


103 degrees

by ohcinnamon



Category: Bandom, Panic! at the Disco
Genre: Fluff ensues, M/M, brendon's an idiot and performs while sick, dallon is overprotective
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-25
Updated: 2017-03-25
Packaged: 2018-10-10 15:04:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10440504
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohcinnamon/pseuds/ohcinnamon
Summary: Brendon has a fever, Dallon can't stop worrying, and Kenny and Dan are assholes.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [brobecking](https://archiveofourown.org/users/brobecking/gifts).



Playing a show while sick is not the smartest thing Brendon’s ever done, but he’s done it before without a problem. He’s done it before with a sore throat, a head cold, and once even with a mild case of the flu. However, one thing Brendon _hasn’t_ done is play a show with a fever of 103 degrees, because “fuck a cancellation.” And Dallon has listened to a lot of Brendon’s stupid ideas over the years, but this one is by far the worst.

Everything is going fine until about the middle of the show.

Dallon hears a strangled note on the tail of a verse in “Girls/Girls/Boys”, and before he even has a chance to look up from his bass, there’s a high-pitched screech as the microphone hits the ground, followed by a pale and shaking Brendon.

Eyes blown wide with shock, he makes split-second eye contact with Kenny, who looks just as scared, before bounding across the stage without realizing it. There’s a quiet, nervous murmur from the crowd, who seem to be as much in shock as the rest of them are, before the roar of yelling begins. Dallon faintly registers the sound of Zack’s voice explaining something to them in the background, but the words don’t quite register in his brain - he’s too preoccupied for that. The bassist drops to his knees by Brendon’s side, heart pounding in his chest, and his stomach flips violently.

Brendon’s face has gone completely white, and his sweat-soaked hair is sticking to his forehead. His breathing is coming fast and shallow, not to mention shaky. Dallon doesn’t even register that he’s abandoned his bass somewhere until he’s pulling Brendon into his chest, the back of one hand pressed against his forehead to feel for a temperature. _He’s still burning up._

With his gaze frantically darting between Brendon and the rest of the boys as they come to join him, he slides one arm under Brendon’s legs, the other across his back, and heaves himself upward to carry him off stage. He’s vaguely aware of Kenny and Dan following after him and chattering to each other, nervous hands grazing Brendon’s sides and face, but their words are slurred and make no sense to him in his anxious haze. All he can think about is getting Brendon offstage, somewhere he’ll be able to know that Brendon will be safe in his care.

He lays Brendon down across the couch in the dressing room as gently as possible, but Brendon still lets out a quiet groan the second he hits the cushions.

“What happened?” he asks quietly, reaching up to rub at his tired eyes before blinking dazedly.

“You passed out on stage,” Dallon supplies, sitting down next to him and running a hand down his leg. “We’re cancelling the rest of the show.”

“What?” Brendon exclaims, attempting to sit up, but Dallon places a hand on his chest, pushing him back down gently but firmly. His eyes narrow in frustration. “I can go out there, I’m fine.”

“Clearly not,” Dallon argues, his tone making it clear that he won’t be taking ‘no’ for an answer. “You nearly gave me a heart attack out there. And if you don’t want to pass out on stage again tomorrow night, you need to get over this fever. You need to rest, Brendon.”

Brendon grumbles at that, but doesn’t press the issue further, which is unlike him. He must be _really_ sick if he’s not even attempting to be his usual stubborn self, which just makes Dallon even more worried.

“Brendon, you think you’re up to walking to the bus?” Zack’s voice breaks Dallon out of thought, and he shoots Brendon an uncertain glance before looking up at him. “If we can, we’re gonna try to make it to a hotel tonight so that you’ll actually have somewhere to rest. We’ll hit a Walgreens once we’re out of town and stock up.”

“Yeah, I should be fine,” Brendon answers, swinging his legs off the couch and getting to his feet. He’s still a bit wobbly, so Dallon comes right up after him, slinging an arm around his waist to steady him. Brendon shoots him an interesting look, but says nothing to protest.

He’s able to notice Kenny and Dan more clearly at that point, who are snickering quietly to each other for some reason or another. It’s probably best not to question it, but he raises an eyebrow at them anyway. Kenny grins back at him, feigning innocence, and Dan just shrugs, a half-smirk gracing his lips. _Assholes._

Loading Brendon onto the bus isn’t nearly as hard as he thought it would be, and before he knows it, they’re off, the city lights playing off Brendon’s cheekbones as they pass through. Giving the younger man time to rest seems to do wonders for his health, and after about half an hour on the road, the pink has returned to his cheeks, and his fever has lowered enough that Dallon can allow his heartbeat to slow down.

Half past midnight, the bus stops in front of a small Walgreens, somewhere in-between rural and urban enough that they probably won’t get recognized - not at this time of night, at least. Brendon pulls a hoodie over his head and slides on a pair of sunglasses just in case, before bounding off the bus like he'd never been sick at all.

“Dallon, go in with Brendon,” Zack says, nudging his shoulder in an unusually soft manner. “We’ll be in there with you in a minute, just let us find a place to park.”

_Why is everyone acting so weird tonight?_ Dallon wonders, before shrugging it off and following Brendon into the store. It's probably just the remnant of the shock of tonight's show taking a toll on them all. He can't really blame them for acting strangely, especially when he'd been so out of it himself.

“Do you think we need Tylenol?” Brendon asks, holding two small bottles in his hand. “Or would we be okay going generic?”

Dallon snorts, taking the generic bottle from him and putting it back on the shelf. “Brendon, you've got the money for Tylenol now, remember? You don't have to think about getting generic. Besides, name brand will probably work better anyway.”

“Right,” Brendon says, smiling a little. “Sometimes I forget. Old habits, you know.”

“It's fine,” Dallon leads him down another aisle, scanning the shelves. “Do you see cough syrup anywhere? We might as well stock up on medicine in general while we're out; all the stuff on the bus is either almost empty or expired.”

“You're probably right,” Brendon agrees, bounding in front of him with a bounce in his step. “Can't have you getting sick too, can we?”

By the time Brendon decides they’re done, they have two baskets full of basic medical supplies, as well as a stockpile of snacks to stash in their bunks. The tired woman at the checkout eyes them curiously, which Dallon can’t really blame her for - he doesn’t think that she sees two men in hoodies and sunglasses buying over $200 worth of medicine at one in the morning very often.

With arms loaded full of bags, Dallon’s just ready to get back onto the bus and sleep, but looking through the large windows at the front, there’s still no sign of the others, nor the bus. Just an empty parking lot, save for a few cars and some plastic bags scattered about.

“That’s weird,” Dallon mumbles, running a hand through his hair as they step out into the chill of the night. “They still haven’t found a place to park yet?”

Brendon shrugs, leading him out into the parking lot. “Beats me, dude. Let’s go see if we can find them or whatever.”

They loop the block at least three times, but there’s still no sign of the bus or any of their bandmates. They stop to drop their bags and rest when they come to the front of the Walgreens again, tired from twenty minutes of useless searching. Dallon’s just about to call Zack, when his phone vibrates with a text from Kenny. Squinting at the sudden brightness, he opens the message, and about throws his phone down in frustration after he’s read it.

_Have fun getting to Philly, assholes!_

_  
_ “Of all times, they pick _now_ to play a prank on us?” Dallon asks, shoving the phone into Brendon’s hands so he can see it for himself. Strangely enough, Brendon doesn’t seem too bothered by it, just shifting his weight to his other side and glancing up at him as if to say, _what can you do?_ Dallon snatches his phone back, immediately opening Google.

“What are you doing?” Brendon asks, pushing up on his tiptoes to try and see over Dallon’s shoulder.

“I’m calling an Uber or something,” Dallon sighs, stretching his arms up in an attempt to get better phone service. _Damn AT &T. _“This is ridiculous. They should know better than to pull something like this while you’re sick.”

“It’ll be okay, Dal,” Brendon says quietly, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Hey, don’t worry about it. They’ll be back soon. I give it half an hour, tops.”

“It’s _not_ okay, though!” Dallon exclaims, watching as Brendon examines his expression closely. “I got so scared when you passed out tonight; I don’t want to see you like that again. I just want you healthy and safe, okay? And them leaving us out in the cold like this isn’t exactly helping that.”

Brendon’s expression suddenly goes soft, and the hand on his shoulder moves down to delicately grace his wrist. Dallon tries to ignore the warmth igniting in his chest, but it’s no use - there’s a reason he’s so protective of Brendon. He doesn’t know what he’d do if anything happened to the fiery, energetic singer; he doesn’t even want to think about it.

“Brendon?” Dallon says, tone dropping so it comes out softly. Brendon just shakes his head, laughing softly, which makes Dallon feel like his heart is about to fall out of his mouth. “What, did I say something?”

“Dal, just shut up for a minute,” Brendon murmurs, smiling at him with a look in his eyes that Dallon can’t quite place. He narrows his eyes at the singer, even more confused than he was before. “Just relax.”

“Brendon, what the fuck?” Dallon asks incredulously. “You’re sick, and you need to rest, and it’s cold out here so you’ll probably just get sicker, and we have a show tomorrow, and -”

Brendon crosses the distance between them and covers his mouth, effectively cutting off whatever he was about to say. “Thanks for taking care of me, but I think I’ll be okay.”

And before Dallon can really argue with that, Brendon’s lips are pressed against his, and his train of thought slips from whatever it was supposed to be thinking about to _well, shit._

One of Brendon’s hands finds its way into his hair, the other pressed against his chest, and Dallon finds his own hands trailing up until they’re cupping the singer’s cheeks gently, still hot to the touch. It’s absolutely ridiculous, this whole situation, but he’s soaking it up as much as he can, because he’s not exactly sure of the next time he’ll have a warm, _enthusiastic_ Brendon in his arms. Maybe he’s just dazed from the fever, but Dallon will take whatever he can get.

When Brendon pulls back, his pupils are blown wide and his cheeks are flushed, and a smile breaks across his face that warms Dallon from head to toe. “You’re an idiot. Stop worrying about me so much.”

“I kind of have to,” Dallon smiles back, resting their foreheads together. “I don’t really know what I’d do without you.”

“Shut up,” Brendon murmurs, pushing at his chest playfully, but Dallon just grabs his arms and pulls him back in, laughing all the while. “Damn, maybe I should get sick more often.”

“Please don’t,” Dallon groans, faking a wince. “I’d be happy to kiss you without...you know, worrying about you fainting.”

“Well, if there’s one thing I know, it’s that it’s a good thing we stocked up on medicine,” Brendon laughs, eyes sparkling with a genuine sweetness that makes Dallon’s cheeks heat up. “Something tells me you’ll be sick, too, before long.”

Dallon just grins in response. Something tells him he wouldn’t mind getting sick, if Brendon was the cause.

 

* * *

 

 

Kenny grins down at his phone, which is vibrating continuously with new, unread messages.

“What did they say?” Dan asks, eagerly peeking over Kenny’s shoulder to see if their plan has finally worked. “Did we pull it off?”

“Oh, I think so,” Kenny smirks, high-fiving his partner in crime triumphantly. “I think the only thing we have to worry about now is staying away from them so they won’t sneeze in our faces.”

 

_Brendon, 1:43 AM: i love you guys_

_Dallon, 1:43 AM: I hate you all._

_Dallon, 1:44 AM: If both of us are sick now, it’s your fault._


End file.
